


I'll Be Around When They Let You Down

by torakowalski



Series: AU Prompts [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 21:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2403695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man on Phil's doorstep is holding a longbow, is bleeding steadily from a visible wound in his shoulder, takes ones look at Phil and says, “Why aren’t you Natasha?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Around When They Let You Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts).



> For Ralkana who asked a 'knocking on the wrong door' AU.

Phil has just sat down for first time today, when someone bangs loudly on his front door. He sighs, pauses Dog Cops, and stands up.

The man on his doorstep is holding a longbow, is bleeding steadily from a visible wound in his shoulder, takes ones look at Phil and says, “Why aren’t you Natasha?”

Because Phil works for SHIELD, this is nowhere near the strangest thing that’s happened to Phil this week.

“I’ve never been Natasha,” he says, and, “Are you all right?”

The man looks at Phil like that was a very stupid question. “I’m really, really not,” he says. He looks exhausted, and the sort of grey-pale that means the dark red stain down the front of his t-shirt is all his. “Okay, sorry, I’ll go. Lock the door; there are bad people around.”

He turns around, stumbles, and catches himself on the wall.

“Crap,” he mumbles and folds down towards the floor.

Phil catches him, bracing him again the wall. He’s just wondering whether to call an ambulance or SHIELD, when the door at the end of the hallway crashes open and several armed men in very ugly tracksuits come rushing toward them.

“Crap, indeed,” Phil tells the unconscious man in his arms and turns to face them.

***

Phil’s catnapping on the couch, when he hears a groan, a curse, and a thump. He sits up, pushing the blankets off his lap and goes to investigate.

His new friend is sitting up in bed, looking around suspiciously and brandishing Phil’s favourite metal bookmark like a dagger.

“Hello,” Phil says. “You should lie back down or you’ll damage your stitches.”

“Who the hell are you?” he asks, not lying back down.

“Phil Coulson,” Phil says, smiling his blandest smile. “And you’re Clint Barton. Or is the driver’s licence in your wallet a fake?”

Barton flinches, hand going to his pocket, or where his pocket would be, if he were still wearing the jeans he arrived in.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says. “I did undress you, but I promise that I didn’t look.”

“You - ” Barton pats his chest, where Phil discovered six separate stab wounds, all of differing depths and, in his non-medical opinion, ages. “Did you say stitches?”

Phil nods. “I patched you up, but I didn’t want to risk giving you any morphine in case you were allergic.”

“Are you a doctor?” Barton asks. “You don’t look like a doctor.”

“Well, there goes my dream of being George Clooney,” Phil says mildly. He’s quietly confident that he could look like a doctor, if the situation called for it, but so far it never has.

Barton smiles, which Phil always hopes for but never expects. Most people don’t notice when he’s joking. The smile adds a splash of colour to Barton’s washed-pale cheeks, but he still looks exhausted.

“I work for an organisation called SHIELD,” Phil says. “You might not have heard of us, but I promise you’re safe here.”

“I’ve heard of SHIELD,” Barton says, eyes going a fraction wider. “I’m pretty sure SHIELD wants to kill me so, you know, I’m not totally comforted, right now.”

“SHIELD rarely wants to kill people,” Phil says. That’s not strictly true, but most of the time Maria and Phil manage to talk Nick down. “Unlike your friends in the tracksuits.”

“Fuck, they came here?” Barton asks. He frowns at Phil, seemingly at a loss. “What did you do? Where are they?”

“I dealt with them,” Phil says. “They won’t bother you again.”

“Dealt?” Barton asks then shakes his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know. If you’re a creepy serial killer and have them locked in the basement, please don’t tell me.”

“Okay, I won’t,” Phil promises, embarrassingly pleased when Barton laughs again. 

Barton struggles to the edge of the bed, teeth gritted all the way. “Thanks for the help,” he says. “I’ll be going.”

“Or you could stay,” Phil says. He wishes he could say he was surprised to find himself making the offer, but he’s not. He’s weak against people who are hurt and in need of his help.

“Yeah, no,” Barton says. He sways when he gets to his feet, but he stays standing, looking like it’s stubbornness that’s holding him up. “I mean, thanks, but I gotta go. Where are my clothes?”

“In the bathroom. You’ve lost a lot of blood, please be careful,” Phil says, following him, but keeping his hands to himself. He’ll help, if he’s asked to, but not until.

Barton throws a grin back over his shoulder. “Not my first time,” he says. He turns back around and immediately stumbles. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” He holds up a hand and leans his back against the wall, looking white and dizzy.

When he blinks his eyes open, it’s not to immediately keel over like Phil was expecting, it’s to look around the room and frown. When he looks back at Phil, his expression is a lot less friendly and a lot more suspicious. “This is Natasha’s apartment,” he says. “Where is she?”

“How would I know?” Phil asks. “The landlord doesn’t tell me anything about previous tenants.”

Barton scoffs. He straightens up like he’s preparing to fight, then he sags, all the fight gone and replaced with exhaustion. “Look, if SHIELD have killed her or whatever, could you just tell me? It’s been a shitty week and I can’t deal with sugarcoating.”

Phil thinks about playing dumb some more, but he looks at Barton’s pale, exhausted face, remembers the blood on his hands last night, while he patched Barton up. “Natasha’s fine,” he says, wondering how much Nick is going to kill him for this. “She’s working undercover for SHIELD, at the moment. Would you like to speak to her?”

“Yeah?” Barton asks, like he’s suspecting a trap. 

Phil walks to the coffee table and picks up his cell phone. He dials a shortcode from memory then hands the phone to Barton. “Please sit down,” he says, while Barton frowns, waiting. 

“I’m fine,” Barton says, but he does lean more heavily against the wall. Then he straightens, hand curling into a fist. “Tasha? Natasha?”

Phil moves into the kitchen to give them some privacy. He fills the kettle and sets it to boil, while Barton and Natasha are talking. They talk for longer than he was expecting, considering Natasha is knee-deep in the Russian mafia, right now, and not very tolerant of most people, even when she’s not.

“Uh, thanks,” Barton says, handing the phone back to Phil. “Sorry about the whole… accusing-you-of-murdering-my-friend thing.”

“Don’t mention it; it happens more than you’d expect,” Phil says, pushing a mug of tea across the table to him.

“Are you trying to seduce me into SHIELD?” Barton asks, but he does sit down and he does take the mug.

“If that were the case, I’d probably use coffee,” Phil says. He lets his eyes roam over Barton’s white t-shirt, checking that he hasn’t pulled any of his stitches.

Barton puffs up a little, noticing Phil’s scrutiny. Phil would tell him that he’s got the wrong idea, that Phil isn’t checking him out, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. 

“Okay,” Barton says, putting his mug down. “You didn’t murder Natasha, you took on the Tracksuit Mafia, and you make good tea. Give me the SHIELD recruitment pitch.”

Phil shouldn’t; Nick’s going to be so unhappy with him. He does, anyway.


End file.
